


Family

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Gen, a funeral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsieur Thenardier is dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know what this is. I was just stalking a photo blog last night for my “if a picture paints a thousand words” photo series when I came across this picture: http://25.media.tumblr.com/9c3751126cd220cf8de495fc872f3f0e/tumblr_mobbrmSllc1ry434go1_500.jpg
> 
> It just begged to be written. I wrote this at like 11pm so forgive me for any traces of mental retardation.
> 
> and photo credit goes skintones.tumblr.com.

“Ep?” He calls out.

The girl he addresses has her back turned away to the sea, a good distance from the plethora of people coming to pay their ‘respects’ to her late father, so that they could not hear her.

As he approaches her, black shoes grazing the bermuda grass, he hears her sniff back her tears.

“Yeah?” She answers, voice heavy.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, looking out to the sea.

He knows apologies are one of the things that she doesn’t want to hear right now, but it’s all he can offer her.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she dabs on her nose, “I mean, he wasn’t a very good man, right? A lot of people hate him. One of them being me. So why cry, right?” She lets out a stifled sob.

He turns to look at her, and her finger is right under her nose, and tears are forming at the corner of her eyes.

“C’mere,” he whispers endearingly, arms opening wide. She pushes herself to his chest. He is taken aback by the sudden force, but stands still nevertheless.

Once his arms were wrapped around her small, waif-like waist, she lets out a loud, desperate cry, and lets out her emotions in the form of tears onto his chest, dampening his shirt.

But he doesn’t care.

“I hate him, ‘Ferre, I hate him so much!” She wails, but is muffled.

He puts a hand on her head to assure her that he’s listening, and he looks up to the sky. ‘Mon dieu,’ he thinks, ‘spare this woman.’

She sobs and sobs into his chest, occasionally yelling out her angry feelings, “he died while robbing, ‘Ferre! We’re a disgrace! He’s an embarrassment!”

He rubs her back soothingly, and her cries subside now into light hiccups, and her tears dried into his shirt and his chest.

“But you love him, don’t you?” Combeferre whispers, his voice as soft as the wind. Eponine almost does not catch his words, but when she does, she bursts into hysterics again.

She’s angry. “That’s the thing, ‘Ferre! I love him!”

Combeferre whispers hushes into her ear, but he’s drowned out by her bawling.

“He’s my father and no matter what, I love him!” — a sob — “I’m not sad because he’s dead, I’m sad because he’s my father, and,” — another sob — “we’ve both forgotten how we’re supposed to treat family.”

She’s silenced by her own words, her sobs returning to the light hiccups once again.

“We’ve been partners-in-crime for most of our lives that I forgot he was my father, and he forgot that I was his daughter…” She mumbles softly into his shoulder.

He doesn’t know what to say.

So he puts his hand on her head again to reassure her that everything will be alright, and for extra measure, he kisses her forehead.

They hug again, and this time, it’s a silent, no-tears hug. A hug that said, ‘I’ll be here’.

“Family.” He says later, when the hug is broken.

Eponine hums, both a questioning hum and an indication that she’s heard what he said.

“We’ll make our own family.”

“Excuse me?” Eponine’s attention is fully captured, although she’s confused.

“We’ll get married,” he says, an urgent tone in his voice, “move to Marseille. Have our own kids. We’ll have our own family.”

“Combeferre-”

“Of course, not now. But some other time; when I’ve saved up enough to buy an engagement ring, to fund the wedding, to get a house in Marseille and buy furniture for it.” Combeferre is nervous.

“My god, Combeferre,” she sighs,”that’s a really inappropriate thing to talk about, especially when you’re in a funeral.” But with a mischievous grin she tiptoes to his ear and whispers, “but it’s a yes.”

“But of course, not now-” Eponine starts again, but is interrupted with Combeferre attacking her with a hug.

“Oh my god, I love you.” He says into her hair, and Eponine smiles.

As they break apart, arms snaked over each other’s waists, Combeferre lifts up Eponine’s free hand and examines it.

They both smile endearingly, knowing that they will be sharing two matching rings soon, living in a house a good distance away, with a few children that look like them.

  
That thought was good enough to be a happy ending to a very sad day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! It means a lot! Leave a kudos if you liked it, and if you're feeling generous, a comment or some constructive criticism. I posted this on Tumblr as well (bahorelrolled). Again, thanks for reading!


End file.
